


From the Voids

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Clara the space woman - Freeform, Creation, Eldritch, From the 'Clara is Tommy's mum AU', Gen, The universe likes this funky blocky man and wants to be his friend, clara the spacewoman - Freeform, space, why do the tags use the real name :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28311228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The man leaves the void, but returns again, over and over. And he builds and creates in that vast darkness, filling the nothingness with inventions and light and life made by his own hands, not stopping at the sight of abandoned cities or destroyed airships, merely flying around, keen on finding a spot for him to terraform next.The universe, with its many mouths, smiles, tender and delicate. It decides it likes this man.Or: Philza and Clara first met.
Relationships: Phil Watson & Clara, Philza & Clara
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: Anonymous





	From the Voids

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to try and write how their meeting would go :)  
> I'm Panna-pan on tumblr! The work itself is anonymous because my ao3 account is centered around another fandom and I don't want to mix it with this.
> 
> AU explanation: From one of Tommy's streams talking about a woman in space. Clara is the embodiment of the universe, and his mother in this AU. She gives Tommy to Philza to raise in her place.
> 
> But we don't cover that here just yet :)

It doesn’t remember when it was first created.

One fraction of a second there’s nothing, and next, it exists. Among a sea of endless voids and silence, the universe curls up on itself for what feels like seconds and eons at the same time, suns and moons being born, stars and comets and planets appearing in the inky canvas, painting a picture of faint light and warmth and dust.

The universe curls up tighter, all senses numb and overpowered at once, listening to a silent voice as the suns implode and the stars freeze over around it-- on it.

Everything exists in a second, the universe hums to itself in both pain and wonder, a song meant for no one and everyone.

Everything just is. For a very long while it just is.

* * *

  
  


Things exist, some are more enticing than others.

There’s life in the form of plants and animals and creatures, they sprout in stars and planets and pockets of absolute nothingness all around it. The universe stays still as everything grows in it, as the stars crumble to sand and leave shards of themselves floating around, and civilizations come and go and cease to exist, as things ascend to levels nearing itself before ultimately disappearing completely, wiped and whispered about by many.

Everything calls its attention, and the universe makes sure to remember all and cherish all. Each second and eon is equally precious to it, watching everything grow and perish and be reborn from ashes. Each cooling sun, each passing comet, each life flicking into existence and disappearing just as fast. 

Everything is a treasure, carefully put in place and polished to do something great.

The universe looks around itself, and peers with curiosity at parts of it. The Voids and the Depths don’t quite flourish as the rest. Worlds become overgrown with flora and fauna and joys and dangers alike, but both those dimensions don’t quite bend to the rules as easily.

The Depths are smoldering hot, like the angered spitting of a sun about to enter a supernova. Its life is tainted by mischief and war framed by seas of lava and charcoal-like dust coming from smoldering bones alongside the wheezing of creatures made from fire itself.

The universe hums again, staring past molten lava and soil tainted with blood and ash before looking away into the many pockets of nothingness that were the Voids.

The voids are without light, without the will to live and existing with the sole purpose of simply not being at all. The life there was never meant to be, the structures built by sheer hopelessness and determination by people the universe remembers had passed away a long, long time ago. The beings there are the remains of the ones who tried to make a home out of the pockets of nothingness; tall and gangly and dangerous.

There’s a hum, and suddenly, and among the sea of numbness, there’s a flame alight with life stepping into the world of desolated, long forgotten hope. 

The universe blinks its many eyes at the same time, focusing onto the man that appears in a place not meant to withstand life. He’s tall, blonde with eyes like the many seas a world can hold and wings twice his height.

A star freezes entirely, and the universe signs mournfully. This man will die in such desolate reality. The least it can do is at least keep it company in its infinite vastness.

* * *

  
  


The universe is ready to bid farewell to this man, and hang a star in his honor among the constellations already made once he passes on. 

But he doesn’t.

The man is fierce, stubborn and resourceful, it notes. He fights the Enders with skill not seen in many, destroys crystals feeding power to a beast before beheading the Dragon with a sword made from a precious jewel and wisps of old magic.

The man leaves the void, but returns again, over and over. And he builds and creates in that vast darkness, filling the nothingness with inventions and light and life made by his own hands, not stopping at the sight of abandoned cities or destroyed airships, merely flying around, keen on finding a spot for him to terraform next.

The universe, with its many mouths, smiles, tender and delicate. It decides it likes this man.

* * *

  
  


The man’s name is Philza.

It takes years before learning it, and the universe cherishes the name as it cherishes the person behind it. The warrior-- the builder gains its favor after the feat of bringing life to one of the Voids all by himself. No magic, no higher being’s doing. Just his creativity and bare hands and vision.

It rewards him with freedom, with gentle breeze under his wings and clear skies each day and night. It rewards him with stars shining twice as much for him, opening a path between dust and debris for him to gaze at the wonders of the Milky Way with naked eye. That Void is no longer a void, but a place of sheer determination and wonder, of hardwork and patience alike.

The universe hums, content, completely enraptured with the mortal man before its eyes as the years go by, watching his wanderlust as he travels, using its stars to guide himself from a point to another as he soars above clouds and seas and deserts, stopping for short periods of time only to start traveling again, discovering something new and making something out of it.

Only when Philza settles for the time being, watching him build a home, does the universe decide to do something.

It’s hard, closing its numerous eyes, letting its being coil around itself in a tangible shape not to scare whoever sees it or drive them towards madness. The universe stops being shapeless for a second but also not. The sea that is the galaxy continues to flow as it lowers itself towards the planet, clouds parting slightly as this embodiment of itself comes closer to earth. 

The man-- Philza, looks up, his eyes wide in surprise and mouth agape. The universe smiles with its single mouth, and speaks with a voice unheard in eons.

* * *

  
  
  


Philza’s breath is stolen away the second he gazes at the ethereal being in front of him.

There’s no way to explain it properly, one second he is flying, overlooking the construction of his home as he refuses to sleep that night. The next seconds the clouds part above him, wind picking up only slightly as something shifts in the corner of his eye. 

He sees constellations he had never seen before, smells ozone so strongly he’s afraid a thunderstorm is coming, and feels goosebumps on his skin as he gazes at the creature coming towards him from the night sky.

He almost wants to rub at his eyes when something appears from between clouds of stars; A woman’s face peeking from between wispy blues, upper body clothed in white and gold and comets and stars shifting all around her, and with a start he realizes her hair is reflecting the sky, and the constellations move alongside like waves against a shore.

He stares for a minute, or a few seconds, unable to form coherent thoughts to explain what he is seeing-- Is he dreaming? Concussed? But the woman merely keeps smiling, eyes closed and giving a serene expression. Her entire lower body is hidden away by the sea of stars that is her supposed hair, floating among the night sky as if peeking from a window.

“Are...are you real?”

The woman nods once, and Phil nods back almost in auto-pilot before landing on top of his construction, looking wide eyed as the woman comes closer again, celestial bodies shifting in her hair to show a meteor shower.

“Uh-- H-Hello there, then? W-What..”

It’s a fever dream, he decides. Phil swallows once, willing his brain to catch up. His body is still in auto-pilot, not quite a fight-or-flight instinct, rooted on the spot.

“Who are you?”

The woman’s lips part slightly, and the voice that comes from her would have been soothing if it weren’t for whatever language came from them. It sounded vaguely...dangerous, ominous with the promise of power behind it, rich with a gentleness that is otherworldly.

He can almost make it out-- but not really. The sounds are something his own throat can’t do, mind still trying to frantically catch up with the situation. “Wha-- That’s-- End, how do you pronounce it? C-Clarus? Clara..?”

* * *

  
  
  


Among his stumbling, the universe smiles, eyes opening slightly only to let the faintest light seep through them, like a morning sun peeking through a night veil.

“Clara,” it-- she repeats, and hums slightly in approval, voice like honey. It has been long since she last had a name-- Long since it was Father sun and Mother moon, long since Aether, long since..

The universe humans again, and looks on as Phil gapes at her still, eyes clear with wonder and worry and the faintest trace of disbelief.

“You may call me Clara.” She says, just as dawn breaks.


End file.
